The Violinist
by WrackspurtWave
Summary: A woman is disturbed by the soothing sound of a violin.


The faint sound of a violin filled the air as I walked up the stairs. It was the beautiful, flowing sound of the violin that beckoned me to the place of residence. I lived just across from the apartment and I was always mesmerized by the music that the violinist played. It also soothed me and made me feel as if the violinist was in my room serenading me with his hypnotizing music. I was always reminded of _The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies _as I imagined how the musician's fingers would glide effortlessly across the strings. I just wanted to drown in the music and wrap myself with its cacophonic symphony.

I was always reluctant to approach the musician's apartment because I feared that if I put a face to the music that it would lose its magic, but I just couldn't help myself. The music was so mystifying I couldn't get it out of my head. I wanted to put a face to the beautiful music the music that penetrated my soul. I took a deep breath as I slowly raised me hand to knock on the door. I was finally doing it. I was finally going to see the face of the musician that I had fantasized about for so long. Before I could even raise my hand to the door to knock the door was opened suddenly. I had to blink a few times to process who was in front of me.

It was the infamous detective Sherlock Holmes and he was dressed in nothing but pajamas and a bathrobe. Obviously I had really disturbed him in the middle of his work because he was starring daggers at me. It looks could kill this was it.

I looked at his feet and felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment as I bite my lip nervously. It is a really bad habit but I always do it when I'm nervous or anxious. His deep voice filled the airs as I put my hands behind my back and rocked back and forth on the soles of my feet.

"You live across the hall right?"

Despite my nervousness I raised my eyes to look at his pale face which reminded me of perfectly carved marble.

"Y-Yes I do. I'm Kirsten it's nice to meet you." I said as I extended my hand to him.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes."

I smiled as I shook his hand and gazed into his beautiful eyes.

"Oh yes I read Dr. John Watson's blog about your cases. I'm a writer you see and I love mysteries so I'm really fascinated by the work you do."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as he studied me with that precision to detail as he gathered every possible fact about me and considered his deductions.

"You should get back to work. It seems an idea is quickly leaving your mind. You're working on a novel about a time traveler? Hm that's interesting."

My eyes grew wide at the accuracy of his statement. "Wow how did you know?"

"Your hands are covered in ink which suggests that you are a writer. I noticed by the splatters of ink on your knuckles that you write with a fountain pen that smears. You might need to get a new pen. As for the time traveling you have a TARDIS keychain on your key ring so obviously you are a Doctor Who fan which led me to deduce that you are writing a book about time traveling."

"Well you are absolutely right in a way just not about the subject of my book."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at my comment. I could already sense that he hated to be wrong. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying that you aren't completely right about the subject of my book. It's really about a boy who has the power to travel into his favorite stories. But you are correct that I love Doctor Who. Do you love Doctor Who Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock winced as I called him Mr. Holmes. Don't call me Mr. Holmes that's my brother. Just call me Sherlock."

I smiled. "Okay Sherlock I hate being so formal anyway. You didn't answer my question though."

"It's okay I guess I never was really a fan of science fiction. I'm more into biographies and historical fiction"

"Oh, for some reason I'm not surprised at all."

Sherlock smiled at my comment and ushered me inside with a flourish of his hand. "Would you like to come in Kirsten? I simply loathe the thought of company, but I rather like you and you seem really interesting."

My heart began to beat faster at his invitation. "Really? You really want me to come in?"

"Sure and I'll even make your favorite mint tea. I don't really like it but John does so I keep some here."

"I'm not going to even ask how you knew about that," I chuckled as I entered the apartment."

Sherlock headed to the kitchen and set the kettle on the stove. "So you're a writer and you also work at a museum as a curator. That's interesting."

I was still amazed at Sherlock's power of deduction. How was it possible for him to know all this stuff about me when we just met? I knew about his power of deduction from the blog, but it just still amazed me witnessing it firsthand.

"Yes as a matter of a fact I do. I'm a researcher at a small gallery whose focus is the Pre-Raphaelites."

Sherlock nodded as he took in the information knowing damn well that he already knew what I was talking about. "And your specialty is Edward Burne-Jones."

"Yes I love how versatile he was and how he just pored himself into his work. I also love the subject matter of his works and how he can turn a simple scene into a comment upon his situation or society. He puts so much detail into his works from the flowers he chooses to paint to their clothing and poses. Everything has a meaning he's a lot like Vermeer in that way. I'm sorry once I start talking about Edward, literature, the Pre-Raphaelites, or art in general I can't stop."

"It's something that you are really passionate about don't be ashamed about it."

I smiled to myself as I explored the comfy yet oddly decorated living room.

"Thank you," I said as Sherlock handed me a cup of tea.

I blew it before taking a seat on the couch. However I noticed the many pictures and maps and pieces of paper that graced the wall.

"Are you working on a case Sherlock?"

"As a matter of fact I am Kirsten. I was wondering if I could get your assistance actually," Sherlock said as he sat in his armchair that was facing me.

"Really," I asked curiosity quickly taking over as I watched the detective in front of me.

"Well there is a missing painting at The Tate. It's been missing for a while."

My eyes grew wide as what Sherlock had just told me a painting missing from The Tate?

"What painting has gone missing?

"The Golden Stairs," He said as he turned to look at me. I guess to see my reaction.

I almost fainted at the news. I just couldn't believe it. The Golden Stairs was gone I frequently visited the painting as I was doing research and it was actually in a short story that I was working on. I set my cup down on the coffee table and moved so that I was standing to the side of Sherlock looking up on the wall.

"What can I do to help?"

I was ready to do anything it took to get the painting back where it belongs so that everyone can enjoy it. This was the artist that I gave my life to studying and writing about. This mystery was personal and I saw it as my duty to help Sherlock with this case no matter what the cost.


End file.
